


Entomophobia

by hiya_zelda (hiya_girlie)



Series: we thought we were fearless [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Angst, Creative liberties taken with Arbiter’s Grounds, Dealing With Trauma, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Arbiter’s Grounds, Whump, ngl this is just 7000 words of me bullying link, somewhat happy ending, vaguely romantic undertones, very detailed description of bugs and such so if you’re squeamish heads up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24740605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hiya_girlie/pseuds/hiya_zelda
Summary: Entomophobia: the fear of insects“Of all of the things he had endured on this fool’s errand, of all the times he had gotten beaten half to death, of all the insane things he had done to get through dungeons or defeat gruesome boss monsters, of all the trials he had suffered with nothing but pure determination and adrenaline, this godforsaken prison and its godforsaken beetles had to be the worst.“An old memory of the Arbiter’s Grounds resurfaces and Link deals with the aftermath.
Relationships: Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Series: we thought we were fearless [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788991
Comments: 6
Kudos: 60





	Entomophobia

**Author's Note:**

> While replaying Twilight Princess recently, I came to the Arbiter’s Grounds and realized that there are some great opportunities to beat up Link. So here’s 7000 words of me doing exactly that.
> 
> If you’re squeamish about bugs heads up, there’s lots of them.

_Walking down the long hallway, he peered into the darkness. The distant sound of spinning spikes grinding against the stone walls told him there was something worth guarding up ahead. He held up his lantern, illuminating the piles of rotting bones that littered the dusty, cracked ground. If he had been anyone else, the bones would have unnerved him and sent him running the moment he saw them. But he had three dungeons and a wide array of caves under his belt, and it took more than a hint of death to rattle him now._

_On the fringes of his hearing, he swore he heard voices. That was the worst part about the Arbiter’s Grounds; the constant paranoia, the feeling of being watched and judged by the dead. The people that had been executed here had been Hyrule’s worst criminals, and now they were his tormentors as he wove his way through the dungeon. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but their moans of anguish told him all he needed to know. They were suffering, and they would suffer for another eternity before they were freed._

_He came to a room with holes in the floor, mounds of thick, sludgy quicksand replacing the missing tiles. He sucked in a breath and leapt from one section of tile to another, careful not to set even a toe inside the sand. He got the feeling there were already skeletons buried in the sand, he didn’t want his to join them. He had nearly drowned in a pond of sand earlier; if there hadn’t been a clawshot target nearby he would have been a goner. The experience, the starchy sand threatening to fill his lungs and the violent churning in his stomach as he scrambled to escape, was still fresh in his mind and he had no desire to repeat it._

_He stepped onto a platform and panicked when it started to sink underneath him. He looked around the room anxiously, trying to find a place to jump to. Another platform was up ahead, and he sprang up to it. The platform shook under his weight and began to slip under the sand. He jumped to another platform, then finally he landed on solid ground and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. His heart beat rapidly inside his chest and it was several moments before he could walk steadily again._

_The whispering intensified as he entered another room, the voices pounded inside his skull. He made out snippets of sentences—“free us”, “we are not traitors”, “the darkness calls me”— and swallowed back his fear. He had Midna and the Master Sword. As long as he kept a level head, he would be fine. He’d already been through three other dungeons just like this one; he could handle one more._

_He hefted open a stone door and walked into the room, surprised that aside from the ever present bones and a few cracked pots, it was completely empty. His footsteps echoing off the walls was the only sound._

_He looked around the room, trying to figure out what to do next. A door was embedded in the wall across the room but it was barred shut, and he didn’t have a way to get through the bars. He pulled the yellowed map he’d found early in the Grounds out of his pocket and tried to figure out where he was._

_“I think I’m lost,” he said aloud._

_Midna popped out of his shadow and hovered over the map, making a face. “It’s your fault for picking up the map and never looking at it!” She said, crossing her arms. “Now figure out how to get us back on track! Remember, a minute you waste wandering around in here is another minute Zant has to wreak havoc.”_

_She disappeared into his shadow again, and he grunted. “You could have at least tried to help,” he muttered, stuffing the map back in his pouch. He turned to leave, and that’s when he heard a noise._

_Something scuffled across the floor on the edge of his vision. He whirled around, drawing his sword. When it became clear nothing was there, he sheathed the sword and walked back to the door. More scuffling. This time he ignored it, reaching to push open the door. It refused to move, and after a few minutes of trying to force it open, he took a step back, breathing heavily._

_Great. He was trapped._

_The voices had gone silent, leaving him to pace around the room looking for a way out in silence. He kept hearing the scuffling noise, and several times he thought he saw something dart across the floor. It was the grounds, he reasoned. The environment was just messing with his head._

_He felt something shoot over his foot and he looked down, watching a tiny black beetle bury itself in a pile of sand on the ground. He considered whipping out the boomerang and hunting the beetle down, if only to stop the annoying sound, then decided against it. He had far more pressing matters to attend to than bug hunting, and he doubted Agitha wanted ugly black beetles attending her ball anyway._

_He tried putting bombs around the doors to blast them open and only succeeded in scorching the ground. He searched for hidden buttons, levers, chains, anything to open the locked doors, and found nothing. With a sigh, he sat on the ground and took a breather, rifling through his pack for something to eat._

_Another beetle climbed over him, this time winding its way up his leg before he swatted it off. He had never been particularly afraid of bugs since he reasoned that the worst they could do was spook the animals he worked with, but they were a nuisance, especially in dungeons. He removed a bottle of water from his pack and set it on the ground next to him, then closed his pack._

_He reached for the water and nearly yelped when he saw the sickeningly large black beetle that sat on the stopper, nearly the size of his palm. Backing away from the bottle slowly, he reached for his sword. At this point he didn’t care if he destroyed the bottle, he just wanted the beetle gone. He drew the sword and readied to swing. Then he brought the sword down and quickly cleaved the beetle in two, its carcass falling to the ground and staining the floor with its orange blood. The bottle shattered, water spilling onto the floor and shards of glass spraying into the air._

_It was just the grounds, he told himself, sheathing his sword. Playing tricks on his head. Take a deep breath, calm down, it was just a bug. He’d squashed plenty of bugs before, ones larger than that one even. They were more afraid of him than he was of them._

_He stepped away from the remains of the beetle and bottle and kicked sand over it, hoping that burying it would give him some peace of mind. He was still trapped inside this room, but at least he wouldn’t have to worry about that bug again._

_He continued searching for a way out, hearing the scuttling intensify, but every time he tried to figure out where it was coming from, it abruptly ended, throwing him back into abysmal silence. He needed to get out of here soon, or he might end up going insane from the noise. Or die from thirst, he thought grimly. He shouldn’t have smashed that bottle, now he was left with one fewer bottle, and though he was deep inside the grounds, the desert heat was still a bother. His chainmail and tunic were beginning to stick uncomfortably to his skin._

_He noticed a few pots sitting on a raised platform on one side of the room and examined them. There wasn’t anything special about them; they looked just like every other chipped, grimy pot he’d seen in this place. He picked one up and dropped it, hoping that when it shattered it would leave behind a key. The pot smashed into the floor but it left behind nothing but shards of broken ceramic and dust. Frustrated, he kicked over another pot, sending it flying into the wall, and watched with an irritated expression as it burst into tiny fragments, falling into a treacherous pile on the floor._

_“Third time’s the charm,” he said to no one in particular, hefting the pot. It was heavier than the other two, and he hoped that was a good sign. Maybe he would find something useful inside. He tossed the pot against the wall closest to him, and screamed when it exploded into a cloud of tiny black beetles._

_In a split second, they blew through the air and swarmed around him, enveloping his legs and torso, worming into every nook and cranny on his body, slithering under his tunic, their legs clawing and mouths pinching at his skin. They crawled up his arms and chest, burying themselves in his hair, completely overwhelming his senses with their hard, hairy bodies and deafening clicking noises. He screwed his eyes shut to keep them from slithering into his eye sockets. He spat out the few that had fallen into his mouth when he screamed and resisted the urge to throw up. They tasted like century old dust and rotted stone, like decayed flesh and dried blood._

_He couldn’t reach for the Master Sword; his body was completely paralyzed, frozen in fear, every inch of his skin covered in these horrible beetles._

_He cried out for Midna to help him, but what could she do? She was just a shadow, and the beetles were very much real. He forced his eyes and mouth shut and prayed to whatever gods existed that they would just go away already._

_An eternity passed and soon he worked up enough courage to reach for his sword. The beetles were severely limiting his movement, like some sort of heavy scarab armor, but he managed to draw the sword and swipe blindly at the air in front of him. A handful of beetles jumped off of him with the movement and were split cleanly in half by the Master Sword. With the rest of the strength he could muster, he swung the sword in a spin attack. The rapid movement sent more beetles flying and into the blade, their bodies falling to the floor with twinkling sounds. He made quick work of the remaining beetles, dispatching them with another spin attack, and stood in the center of the carnage._

_His heart was beating so rapidly he thought he might pass out, and he stumbled to brace himself against the wall, swallowing in air as fast as his lungs could take it in. They burned with the effort, and he sank down to the floor on shaky legs, holding his sides. The Master Sword, its pristine blade orange from the beetles’ blood, clattered to the floor beside him._

_He could see the dead beetles on the ground in front of him, but in his mind they were still clawing at him, still everywhere. His hand landed in a pile of sand and he recoiled from it, mistaking the gritty particles for a beetle’s legs._

_His stomach churned, and he was glad Midna wasn’t around as he proceeded to vomit onto the sandy floor. His body felt violated. He wanted to warp to the Goron mines and burn away his skin until he couldn’t feel anymore. Anything to free himself from whatever had just happened._

_He collapsed to his hands and knees, his breath ragged. Of all of the things he had endured on this fool’s errand, of all the times he had gotten beaten half to death, of all the insane things he had done to get through dungeons or defeat gruesome boss monsters, of all the trials he had suffered with nothing but pure determination and adrenaline, this godforsaken prison and its godforsaken beetles had to be the worst. He kept trying to assure himself that the bugs were dead, he had nothing to worry about now, he was fine, but inside his head he could still see the pot smashing, the beetles spilling out like liquid darkness, encasing him completely and suffocating him._

_He reached for the Master Sword and stuck it into the ground, leaning on it for support. The previously locked door opened. He pushed himself to his feet and walked towards it, beetle shells cracking underfoot. He stumbled through the rest of the Arbiter’s Grounds, and when he came to another room with no escape, he sat against the wall and cried until he finally kicked the pot in and let the beetles swarm him once more. After he laid there, unmoving, the beetles eventually dispersed, the door unlocked, and he had just enough strength and sanity to get up and keep moving._

_He couldn’t express his relief when he finally stepped out of the dungeon, leaving the memory of broken pots and beetle carcasses behind._

———

Link sat up with a jolt, his heart hammering against his ribcage. That dream, it had felt so real. Far too real for his liking. He could practically feel the beetles crawling over his skin just like they had at the Arbiter’s Grounds, could almost taste the dust and dirt they stirred up, could make out the scuttling noises they made as they scurried around the floor. Of all the things to wake him up in the middle of the night, he’d never thought that it would be bugs.

A bead of cold sweat trickled down his forehead and cheek and fell onto the sheets. His breath came in harsh gasps that echoed through his room, and his whole body was tense, ready to spring into action. He itched to grab his sword, needed to feel its comforting weight in his hand and remind himself that he had a fighting chance. 

A fighting chance against what? A bad memory?

Something brushed against his leg.

He bit back the scream rising in his throat, reaching to his nightstand for his sword. Maybe that was a bit extreme, but having its familiar weight in his hand soothed his nerves. Tentatively, he pulled back the covers, expecting to find some sort of small animal, or goddess forbid an insect, cuddling up against his leg. He was a mixture of relieved and terrified when he saw nothing. He had felt something, he had. It had touched his leg. But there was nothing there. _Where had it gone?_

 _Okay_ , he told himself, putting his sword down and repeating the age old mantra he used to ground himself, _calm down, take a deep breath, it was just a dream. You panicked because of the dream. You’re alright now. This is reality, and there is nothing here to hurt you._

He kicked the sheets off the bed, watching them tumble over the side in a tangled heap. He would sleep without them tonight, because if they brushed against his legs again he might actually scream, and he didn’t need the whole castle barging into his room in the middle of the night to demand to know what all the fuss was about. His hands were shaking as he robotically laid back down, his head falling against the pillow with a soft thud. He pulled it up around his ears like the memory was an irritating melody the pillow would muffle. 

The more he tried not to think about it, the more he did. The memory of the Arbiter’s Grounds, despite being nearly two years old now, was as fresh in his mind as if he was still there, stuck in the locked room with no escape. A wave of nausea washed over him and he sat back up, trying to calm down. 

_This is reality._ He was not at the Arbiter’s Grounds in that dusty room with the pieces of broken pots laying at his feet, beetle carcasses scattered about; he was on his comfortable bed in his private room at Hyrule Castle, far, far away from the desert and the pitch black beetles. He looked around the room that had become his home, his sanctuary. Befitting his station as captain of the royal guard, every piece of furniture was utilitarian and sturdy, but lacking the ornamentation that the rest of the castle had. Though the night was dark, he knew where everything was from memory. His bed rested against the far wall, the dresser and bookshelves across the room, a table and chair near the door that led to his balcony, various other belongings arranged neatly in the leftover space.

His eyes automatically drifted to the corners where he knew spiders liked to build their webs, and he felt a spike of panic. When was the last time the room had been properly cleaned?

He squinted, but in the darkness he could barely see his hands in front of him. Too late to turn back now, his mind fully fixated on eliminating any potential problems, he slipped out of bed, picking up his sword again. He cautiously approached one of the corners and swung his sword through the empty space. He examined the blade, nodding to himself when he didn’t see any cobwebs, then proceeded to walk to each corner of the room, focusing intently on the walls and searching for any sign of webs. He swiped his sword through the spaces, then took it to the wash bin he kept on his table and cleaned it. No spider bodies floated in the water, and he let out a sigh of relief. 

The ritual calmed his anxiety, if only slightly. Part of him wanted to get on his hands and knees and check under his bed too, then climb on the chair and look on top of the shelves, but he reluctantly put his sword aside and sank onto the bed. He was exhausted from dealing with the aftermath of that nightmare, and if he kept worrying about every little thing he was going to run himself ragged. The old paranoia he thought he’d rid himself of, the alertness at the smallest touch, the readiness to do whatever it took to escape, it was starting to set back in.

 _Go to bed,_ he told himself, trying to focus on something other than the rattling feeling in his chest _. It’s nothing. You’re fine. Sleep it off, and you’ll be alright in the morning._

He laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling, running his eyes over the texture of the wood. His heart wasn’t beating nearly as quickly as it had been, and his palms stopped sweating. He wiped away the sweat from his forehead and ran a hand through his hair. 

_You’re alright, Link, just...just calm down. It’s nothing you haven’t dealt with before. You did this once, you can do it… you can do it again. That doesn’t mean doing it again will be easy, but it’s gotta be easier the second time around, right?_

_Right?_

He forced his eyes shut and tried to fall asleep. He hummed the tune to his favorite folk song, visualizing the lyrics in his head. Nine times out of ten that did the trick for his usual insomnia, but he hummed for what felt like hours, and his eyes continually wormed their way open and stared intently at the corners again. When he closed his eyes, his vision swam like a mass of wriggling insects. Eventually he gave up trying to sleep and got dressed, reasoning that he could make up the difference tonight as he headed towards the training grounds. 

———

Zelda stood on the dining hall balcony, peering out over the training grounds below her. She held her arms to her chest for warmth, wondering how anyone with any sense could be outside in this cold. The sun was buried beneath a pile of gloomy clouds that looked as though they would bring rain later in the day, and a cool breeze fluttered through the castle, chilling through her dress and making goosebumps prickle her skin.

Trevor, the soldier who’d interrupted her morning routine with urgent business, leaned against the railing beside her, worry written all over his aging face. At first, she’d been peeved with the interruption, but now she was grateful that he had come to get her; after surveying the scene he’d described for herself, she was starting to worry too.

Link was the only person in the training grounds, standing towards the center in front of a wooden dummy with his sword drawn, his shield nowhere to be seen. He stepped through a series of complex movements around the dummy, swinging his blade with careful precision to strike at the weak points in its leather armor. Straw poked out of the joints where he had already found his mark, and he looked quite close to completely decapitating the dummy, its head lolling to the side. Anyone could have seen him and been impressed with his technique; it seemed flawless.

But today, she sensed something was off. Even from her distance she could see that he was exhausted. His robotic form was nowhere near the fluid perfection he strived for, his footing stiff, his posture rigid. His style of swordplay relied on his agility and speed, and with an awkward form like that he was severely hindering both, drawing more of his strength into being an immovable wall rather than an unstoppable force. Despite the chill, there were beads of sweat clinging to his skin and his tunic was damp in many places, sticking to him like a second skin. His hair was mussed like he had just woken up, and she got the feeling that impression was accurate, which only deepened her worry.

“You said he’s been at this since you found him?” Zelda asked, glancing at Trevor.

He nodded. “My shift starts just before sunrise, Your Majesty,” he explained, “and Captain requires us to do half an hour of warmups before we start to loosen up. He was there when me and the rest of my shift showed up but he didn’t pay us any attention. He was so focused on that dummy, it was like he’d forgotten about the rest of the world.”

She frowned. Sunrise had been a little less than an hour ago, and if Trevor had shown up half an hour before that, then that meant Link had been beating at the dummy for ninety minutes straight, far longer than stamina dictated was possible if he had been doing those advanced maneuvers the whole time. As she studied him closer, more signs of exhaustion became apparent; little things like the way he swayed when his footing slid or the effort he exerted in simply pulling his sword out of the dummy.

However, that last bit of information troubled her the most. Link was the perfect captain in more ways than one. He commanded the respect of everyone under his charge, not with threats or false authority but with the confidence that came from years of experience and trials. His men knew that he had gone through worse than they had, and they idolized him for that. As such, he never turned down an opportunity to spar with them, trying to show them that he was just as human as they were in an attempt to bring him to their level. The fact that he had completely ignored the morning shift was a cause for concern.

“You tried speaking with him?” She asked, fixing her gaze on Link again. He was panting heavily but continued to go through his motions, wiping sweat from his forehead with his right hand.

Trevor sighed and shook his head. “Norman, one of the senior men on the shift, tried challenging him to a duel and he didn’t reply, didn’t even look at him even though he and Norman are good friends. A few of the others tried and got the same results. Eventually we stopped trying and finished our exercises, then left him alone.”

Her frown deepened. “It’s not like him to be so distant.”

“That’s why I figured I would tell you, Your Majesty,” he said. “Pardon my bluntness, but you two are close, a lot closer than any of the rest of us are with him, so I reasoned that if anyone knew what was going on with him it would be you.”

Zelda drummed her fingers on the railing, watching as Link delivered a sharp blow to the dummy, splitting its armor cleanly down the center. It fell to the ground with a soft thud, barely audible on the balcony. It was a marvel that his strength was still going.

It was true; she and Link were close. Their relationship had been founded on nothing but a mutual desire to aid Midna at first, but once she had returned to the Twilight Realm, Link had come to Zelda, wanting to assist her in rebuilding Hyrule. Since then they had become good friends, working together for the benefit of the people, but there was still plenty she didn’t know about him. He hardly spoke of the trials he endured during his quest and when he did, it was brief and hurried, so if this incident was related to that in any way, she wouldn’t know.

“Has anything like this happened before?” She asked. Perhaps this was something worth discussing with him.

Trevor paused. “I remember seeing him up late at night just after he accepted the position of captain, right after the whole invasion stuff. I was on the night shift then. Some of my friends from the morning shift also mentioned that they saw him up early sometimes but never for longer than thirty minutes, and he never ignored soldiers. He stopped doing it after a few weeks, though. This is the first time it’s happened since then.”

She mulled over the information, her curiosity mingling with concern. “I’ll speak with him later,” she said finally, shaking her head. “I have things to attend to, but when he snaps out of this, will you inform him that I would like to see him in my office after lunch?”

Trevor bowed. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you.”

She stepped away from the railing to exit the balcony, but a sharp gasp from Trevor made her turn. He stared out at the training grounds with wide eyes, and she followed his gaze to find that Link had collapsed on the ground, his sword fallen beside him. A spike of alarm shot through her, and in a split second she decided that her duties could wait.

“Help me get him to the medical wing,” she said, hurrying off the balcony. 

Trevor fell in step behind her and without a moment to lose they ran to the training grounds.

———

_Locked doors with no escape, broken pottery shards, quicksand, spinning spikes, and bones, too many bones. Crumbling stone, grimy dust, and grainy sand covering every surface. Skeletal monsters that paralyzed with their blood-curdling shrieks and goddess knew what else._

_Scuffling against stone. Black against green. Beetles against blades. Orange blood spattering across the ground, split bodies littering the space around his feet. The taste of dirt and decay in his mouth, the prickling and stinging on his skin. The bite marks that hadn’t faded for months._

_Was that the price of traversing the Arbiter's Grounds? Slowly losing every ounce of sanity you had until you crawled out of the place in dozens of pieces, and bleeding to death while you did?_

Link sat up with a start, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He swallowed hard, trying to soothe his dry throat. There it was again, the memory of the Arbiter's Grounds and the beetles. He still couldn’t get it out of his head. His body itched with the phantom sensation, and he resisted the urge to scratch it. There were no bugs here. He was safe.

His eyes adjusted to the bright lights and he took in his surroundings. He wasn’t in his own bed like he’d thought, rather he was laying on a white cot in a room of the medical wing. The blankets had tumbled off the side of the bed into a heap on the ground, likely kicked off in his sleep. His tunic, chainmail, and boots had been removed and piled neatly on the table beside the cot, leaving him in his undershirt and trousers, which clung to his skin uncomfortably as beads of sweat soaked through them. His head was pounding as laboriously as his chest, the sound reverberating through his chest. He combed a shaking hand through his hair, settling back against the headboard with a long exhale. 

_Calm down. Just a bad dream. Nothing more._

He remembered standing in the training grounds, beating away mindlessly on a dummy to give himself something to focus on other than his nightmare. After that, though, his mind was blank. The sunlight streaming in from the window informed him that it was late morning. _I must have passed out._ He pictured himself lying on the ground and shuddered. Who knew how many bugs had crawled on him while he lay there, powerless to stop them?

Gods, he was so exhausted. Every joint in his body was sore and stiff, protesting with the slightest movement. It took more effort than it should have to reach up and rub his eyes. He laid back down with a groan, shifting until he was comfortable curled up on his side, and let his eyes slip shut. It would be so easy to fall back asleep, so easy to plunge back into the memory of the beetles and darkness and lose himself in the nightmare. 

_No,_ he thought fearfully. _I can’t succumb to that thinking. I’ll be alright._

He took controlled breaths, a technique he’d figured out a long time ago to take his mind off unpleasant thoughts. He poured his energy into inhaling, holding his breath for a few seconds, then exhaling very slowly, giving himself no time for his mind to wander. He counted seconds that lasted eternities, and soon he could feel himself falling asleep. 

The sound of the door opening, too much like scraping across the ground, made him bolt upright in a panic, stifling a gasp of pain as he reached out for his sword, his drowsiness replaced by sheer terror. A part of his addled mind reminded him he was in the castle, he was safe, it wasn’t an enemy at the door, but the fighting instinct he swore he’d conquered overwhelmed and silenced it. Whatever was at the door was a threat.

He was too vulnerable in this state, but there wasn’t time to put on his tunic and chainmail. As long as he was fast, he would be fine, though with how slowly his limbs were moving, that might prove difficult. When his hand closed around empty air, his panic intensified. Where was his sword?

His spike of adrenaline faded as Zelda stepped into the room, his mind recognizing her as a friend, someone who would never hurt him. She carried a tray of food in one hand, balancing it against her hip while she closed the door with her other hand. Of all the people to bring him food, he hadn’t expected it to be the queen, especially not dressed up like she was.

Her presence cleared the tension in his body and he slumped against the headboard again, trying to calm his pounding heart. He closed his eyes with a sigh, mentally berating himself. _You’re being ridiculous, jumping at the smallest sound!_

“Sorry,” she said, the faintest smile on her lips, “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Link was relieved; she’d mistaken his panicked movements as simply being startled awake. “It’s alright,” he said, managing a bare smile in return. His heart rate slowed back to normal, and he hoped he didn’t look too jostled. “I was already up.”

She approached the cot with caution, like he would get up and run away if she got to close. “I figured you would be hungry when you woke, so I had the chefs prepare you something.” Her words left a lot unspoken, but his gut twisted when he picked up the hidden implication: _I know what happened._

Zelda held out the tray to him and he accepted it with a grateful nod, setting it down on his lap. He examined the food with a hungry gaze: a bowl of steaming vegetable soup accompanied by two slices of bread and a plateful of fresh fruit. He hadn’t eaten since last night, and his stomach growled as the rich smell of the soup filled the room, eliciting a small chuckle from her and a blush from him.

“Go ahead,” she said, nodding her head to the food with a growing smile. “You must be starving.”

With as much grace as Link could muster, he began to eat. He was grateful that she busied herself by taking a seat on the edge of the cot and smoothing out the invisible wrinkles in her skirt instead of watching him eat. It was already awkward enough having her walk in on his panic attack, he would probably die of embarrassment if she stared at him while he stuffed his face. His manners weren’t atrocious; he had been living at the castle long enough to pick up on good etiquette, but given how ravenous his appetite was, it was a miracle he didn’t bury his face into the bowl and lap the soup up like a dog. At least worrying about eating properly distracted him. When he finished, she took the tray and set it on the table. 

After sitting in silence for some time, Zelda turned to him. She no longer wore a casual smile. Her lips were drawn into a worried line, her brows furrowed and making faint creases in her forehead. He met her gaze and felt as though she was staring right through him, searching his mind for the answers to questions she was undoubtedly pondering. He wanted to wilt, run, hide, anything to avoid the questioning that was sure to come, but found himself sitting up straighter under her scrutiny. He was no coward, and she was no enemy. She was his friend.

“Link,” she said, so softly he thought he imagined it. “What happened?”

He looked away, his eyes settling on the folds of her skirt, like purple silk waves. _I’m fine,_ he tried to say. The words caught in his throat, and he swallowed. She was smarter than that, he couldn’t try and dodge the question. “I passed out.”

“I know that,” she said, shaking her head. “I meant why?”

“I was exhausted.” _Please, please don’t press further. Please, Zelda. Don’t. I don’t think I can tell you._

She gave him an irritated look, then her expression softened, and when she spoke again her words were quiet and gentle. “Yes, it would appear so. Had you not slept well last night?”

He shook his head wordlessly. Images of broken pots and flying beetles flashed through his mind and he tensed up, his hand tightening into a fist. _How do I explain this to you? It’s irrational and cowardly, and I’m not supposed to be either of those things._

“Insomnia?” She asked, although from her tone she didn’t seem to think that was the right answer. “It happens to me sometimes, when there’s too much on my mind.”

He shook his head again. “No, it wasn’t that.” _Tell her._ He took a deep breath. “Woke up too early and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“May I ask what woke you up?”

 _A dark, dusty place with bones and sand everywhere and rooms full of beetles that swarmed over my skin and wormed inside my sanity._ “Just a dream I had,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Nothing serious.”

Zelda pursed her lips. “I think it was,” she murmured. “You’re not the kind of person to drive himself to exhaustion ‘just because’.”

 _I’m not the kind of person to get freaked out over a bunch of bugs, either._ Link sighed, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling. “Maybe it was. It doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, it does—“

“No,” he insisted, his voice much sharper than he’d wanted. Her eyes widened and she opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. “It doesn’t. It was just a bad dream, nothing more. I’m fine now, so that’s all that matters. If you’ll excuse me, I have duties to attend to, so with your permission I’ll take my leave and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

He moved to stand, reaching for his boots and clothes, wanting to get out of the room before he broke down again. He gritted his teeth and fought back the wave of panic threatening to seize him again as he pulled on his boots. _Stay calm. It’s just a bad memory. It can’t hurt you anymore._

No, it was more than just a bad memory. It was a living nightmare, the single thing in existence able to break his composure. He’d experienced the harshest climates, the boiling heat and lava of the Goron Mines and the freezing winds and ice of the Snowpeak Mountains. He’d fought demons from another world, not one but two evil kings planning to take over Hyrule, and countless other monsters. He’d suffered through wounds that had nearly killed him more times than he could count, surviving with sheer determination and drinking potion after potion until his blood was more purple chu jelly than blood. He’d used every trick in the book to get out of tough situations, doing things so ridiculously risky there was no possible way they should have worked like they did. He was a hero chosen by the gods.

But here he was, unable to stop trembling because of a few black beetles.

He froze, his body locked in place. He was back in the Arbiter’s Grounds, back in the room with no exit, with shattered pots crunching underfoot and beetles swarming every surface in sight, intent on devouring everything they touched. They would eat away at him until he became another pile of white bones and frayed clothing on the floor, forgotten by the world, left to rot to the end of time.

He couldn’t breathe. Reality meshed with memory, trapping him in the torment. He cried out, a strangled moan that didn’t sound remotely human.

“Link!” Zelda’s cry pierced the vision, and when he blinked, he had stumbled off the bed, on his hands and knees on the floor. His lungs couldn’t take in air fast enough, burning with every inhale. Sweat dripped from his face and splashed in tiny puddles in between the stones in the ground. His arms shook under his weight but his body wouldn’t move. 

She quickly knelt beside him, her skirt bunching up beneath her, and placed her hands on his shoulder and neck, trying to turn his head to look at her. “Link, it’s alright, I’m here,” she assured, her voice growing more frantic when he didn’t respond. “Link, can you hear me? It’s me, it’s Zelda, you’re alright, you’re here in the castle, with me, you’re safe.”

Link writhed under her touch, _god they’re everywhere have mercy_ , roughly pushing her hands away. “Please, don’t touch me,” he whimpered, “I can’t—I can’t—“

She pulled away with alarm, pressing her back against the bed to give him space. “I’m sorry,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He took ragged gasps, trying to ground himself back in reality. There were no bugs crawling on him, that was Zelda, and she would never hurt him. Her touch was meant to be reassuring, calming, _stop panicking, stop stop stop I can’t stop!_ His head sagged, his forehead brushing against the ground. His arms finally gave way and he fell with a painful thud. 

He laid there, numb to the world around him as he struggled to regain control over his body and emotions. Every ounce of physical and mental strength had been stripped away leaving him raw, weak, helpless. He could barely hear Zelda calling out his name, begging him to look at her, and wanted to tell her it was alright. But nothing about him was alright anymore. 

Finally, after an eternity passed, the panic and terror cleared, the room seemed less stifling, and the air was easier to breathe. His heart stopped thumping against his ribs, his head stopped spinning a million miles an hour. He stopped seeing the mass of beetles when he closed his eyes, and he could think about things other than the locked room again. 

With trembling hands Link pushed himself to a sitting position, ignoring the protests from his body. He leaned against the bed next to Zelda and dropped his head to her shoulder. She didn’t touch him out of fear of upsetting him, but her presence was more than enough. Her perfume smelled like warm vanilla.

“I’m here for you,” she whispered. “It’s okay now. It’s alright.”

He nodded weakly and let his eyes slip shut. As he drifted back asleep, he breathed a sigh of relief that he was nowhere near the desert.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, wow this is the longest stand-alone fic I’ve written yet. This was strangely fun to write? I might be becoming a sadist, but oh well. Might as well embrace it ( ✌︎'ω')✌︎✌︎('ω'✌︎ )


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